


Better Than Aspic

by Sholio



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: Karen gives Joyce a cooking lesson, and Joyce reciprocates with some much-needed reassurance about the weirdness in Hawkins.





	Better Than Aspic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harping/gifts).



> I loved this entire request, and especially your prompt about Karen teaching Joyce to make a suitably horrible era-appropriate dish. I'm mashing together recipes from several eras here, but my googling on this topic uncovered enough terrible recipes from the '70s and early '80s that I think it's fair to assume that neighborhood potlucks were still seeing plenty of aspics, and cookbooks from earlier eras are quite likely still floating around Hawkins kitchens to provide alarming sources of cooking inspiration.

"So sorry I'm late," was the first thing Joyce said, breathlessly, when Karen opened the door. She'd been too engrossed in working through the insurance paperwork on all of Will's recent hospital visits to pay attention to the time. Technically that was being paid for by the government, which was a godsend as she had no idea how she could have afforded it otherwise -- but it wasn't a matter of having it just _paid for,_ oh no, she'd always been terrible at paperwork and she knew she'd filled out some of those forms wrong ...

But anyway, here she was, almost an hour late and clutching handfuls of plastic shopping bags, when Karen was supposed to be helping _her_. And Karen just smiled at her and said, "Come in, it's okay, you gave me time to get out all my cookbooks and recipe cards. I was just helping Holly put a puzzle together."

"We could have done this at my place," Joyce said, as she followed Karen into an intimidatingly large and even more intimidatingly spotless kitchen. "I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"Oh no, no trouble at all -- it's _less_ trouble, really, because Holly has all her toys here and the basement playroom to keep her busy."

"Well, anyway, thank you so much for helping me with this." She put the shopping bags on the counter, impressed in passing at the entire experience of being able to put _anything_ on a counter without having to move a half-finished science project, three mostly-empty boxes of cereal, and two ashtrays first. "I've always been hopeless at aspics. I can't get them to gel properly." She decided not to mention that the last time she'd tried making one, she had decided that since they never set up right, she'd use two packets of gelatin instead of one. It set up, all right. It set up so thoroughly that knives just bounced off and she'd had to throw out the pan. Even the dog hadn't been willing to eat it.

"They're not too hard," Karen said, and Joyce tried not to laugh, because being too hard had been exactly the problem with her last aspic. "Do you have a recipe in mind?"

"I, uh --"

"Don't worry about it. Let's see what you brought, and you can look through my recipes and Jell-o molds, and see if you find one you like." Karen opened one of the bags. "That's the nice thing about aspics, they're very forgiving."

They probably were, for Karen. Joyce nervously picked up handfuls of recipe cards and wished she had a cigarette. Karen's aspic always gelled perfectly; her [salmon loaf](https://vintagerecipecards.com/2011/08/27/baked-stuffed-salmon/) looked like it could swim right off its plate. When Karen [molded liver paste into a pineapple](https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/nsw/liver-sausage-pineapple-the-worst-recipe-ever/news-story/90c498081b634b15107affb0d956538e) for the volunteer fireman's potluck benefit, it looked so much like a pineapple that you almost expected it to taste like a pineapple instead of liver and Worcestershire sauce.

Which was why she'd asked Karen for help making something for the neighborhood block party. It didn't have to be perfectly molded into the shape of a salmon; it just had to be edible. Or at least, hopefully, non-rubbery enough to be cut with something short of a blowtorch.

Flipping through the recipe cards was making her unexpectedly queasy. She appreciated a good Jell-o mold as much as the next person, but some of these were downright ... er ...

... all right, there was no avoiding it: some of these looked like they planned to crawl off the plate and try to eat her children. She'd never realized how, well, _gelatinous_ your average aspic looked, and in particular there was something about the uncomfortable feeling that she could see into their internal organs. [This one in particular](https://vintagerecipecards.com/2012/07/26/ham-in-aspic/) was definitely plotting something; it reminded her of --

"Oh, I know just the thing," Karen said, jolting Joyce out of anxious thoughts about the Upside Down and a renewed craving for a cigarette. "Do you see the pile of magazines there? Hand me that one, I've got it bookmarked -- yes, this is perfect, see, this one [with Spaghetti-Os and little cocktail wieners](https://www.shared.com/retro-spaghetti-o-jello-might-actually-be-from-the-future/). Kids love it, and it's fast and easy. Here, get me down the ring mold from that shelf."

And so, ten minutes later, Joyce was whisking gelatin into cold water under Karen's direction. Oh, she thought, you put it in the water _first._ That would probably help. Karen had the rest of the ingredients neatly arranged on the countertop and the tomato soap can already open. 

"It's so nice of you to help me with this," Joyce said, looking away from the gelatin and sincerely hoping that this didn't come out looking _too_ much like anything that had recently tried to eat her or anyone in her immediate family. "I knew you'd be the person to ask about this. That salmon loaf you bring to the school potlucks is always just such a ... a _loaf."_

"The trick is in using enough mayonnaise," Karen said humbly. "Now, we'll need the Spaghetti-Os in a minute -- where did that can go -- oh, you can stop stirring now, just let it bloom for a few minutes. You know, Joyce, I hoped to have a chance to talk to you a little bit anyway. If that's all right."

The tentative note in her voice drew Joyce away from staring at the gelatin and trying to figure out what constituted "bloom" and whether that was a good thing. She wasn't used to hearing Karen sound ... well, like _that,_ nervous and uncertain.

"Are you okay?" she asked. It was the first thing that came to mind.

"Oh, I'm fine," Karen said quickly, "it's just that --" She shook her head. "Never mind. Turn on the fire under that? I'll get the Spaghetti-Os."

As they heated up the soup/gelatin mixture, interrupted occasionally by Holly running in with a toy, Joyce kept glancing at Karen, but the conversation stayed light, the usual chatter about their kids and the coming end of the school year. Karen brought out the ring mold, and they poured in the [warm tomato mixture](https://www.shared.com/content/images/2018/10/Capture-97_GH_content_750px.PNG). Joyce tried very earnestly not to think about any worrying resemblance to internal organs or bodily fluids.

"Now," Karen said, tucking it into the fridge, "that just needs to set up for a bit." She looked over at Joyce and brushed back her hair. "Wine?"

"Yes, please," Joyce said in grateful relief. It gave her something to do with her hands that didn't involve cigarettes.

They took their glasses of wine onto the porch. Holly scampered over to play with the swing set. It was getting warm again, life coming back into the world, and for a minute Joyce just breathed -- in and out, letting the ball of stress inside her untangle.

She'd felt a little weird about imposing on Karen's kitchen and Karen's house, but it was _nice_ here. It was good to get away from her own problems for a few hours -- the cluttered table covered with paperwork, the constant reminders (from the burned rug in the hallway to the sticky bits of tape left on the walls) of everything that had happened there over the last few years.

"How's Will doing?" Karen asked her.

"Better, these days." She tried to remember what their last cover story had been, explaining why Will had had to miss a few days of school around Halloween, and couldn't dredge it up off the top of her head. "He's, ah, he's fine. You probably see more of him than I do these days; he's always with the other kids, playing their game. Which I'm happy for," she added quickly. "It's good for him. He's doing much better than he was last year."

"So is Mike," Karen said. "He was so strange the last year, not like himself at all, but now he's almost like his old self again. And I _don't_ actually see that much of him. The kids have been spending a lot of time with the Chief at this cabin he has in the woods. I don't mind it, of course, but ..." She stopped, and there was that look on her face again, tentative and unsure, and strangely familiar.

"Karen ...?" Joyce began.

"Joyce, do you ever feel like there's something really _weird_ happening in this town?" It all came out in a rush, as if the words had been pent up for a long time. "Like things are just _not normal,_ and our kids are involved in it somehow, but every time I try to talk to Mike about it, he won't say anything, and Ted just looks at me like I'm crazy."

She faltered over the last word, and all Joyce could do was stare at her. She knew why that expression looked familiar to her now: it was because she'd seen it in the mirror.

She just had never realized that she wasn't the only person who felt the same.

The silence had gone on too long. Karen looked away quickly, and her fingers twitched on the stem of her wine glass, reminding Joyce suddenly of something she'd forgotten until now: Karen used to chain smoke in high school. Joyce had no idea when she'd stopped.

"Never mind, I know how it sounds," Karen said. "I know you probably think --"

"Karen. You're not crazy."

She only wished she'd had someone to say those words to her. But being able to say them to someone now was almost as good.

"I know," Karen said quickly, still not looking at her, "I mean, of course I know that, but I guess we all have these moments when we think about things that are just --"

"You're not crazy, and _you're not wrong."_

Karen turned, looking at her full on, her gaze wondering. "... what?"

"I meant what I said. And ... oh ... I can't take this anymore." Joyce fumbled in her pocket until she found what she wanted. "Karen, do you mind if I smoke out here? I won't do it in the house, I promise."

Karen's mouth worked for a minute and then relaxed into a smile that made her look much younger. "Only if I can bum one off you."

Joyce lit for them both, and Karen took a long drag. Her eyes closed in bliss. "I miss that," she said in a tone of quiet contemplation. "You know, I quit when I married Ted, but I still used to sneak a smoke behind the shed every once in awhile. Not ever in the house, of course, and I'd dab on a little perfume to make sure to cover up the smell. The last one was right after I got pregnant with Mike. It made me sick -- did you ever have that problem?"

Joyce nodded. "I didn't smoke with either of the boys." She'd tried to quit for good after Will was born, but then there was everything that had happened with Lonnie, and her nerves hadn't been able to take it.

"I had my last one right there." Karen pointed across the yard with the hand holding the cigarette, trailing smoke. "I got so sick from just one puff, and I thought it was some kind of ... of sign, I guess, that I shouldn't be sneaking around, hiding it. So I quit. I don't really miss it, except, you know, every once in a while." She glanced sideways at Joyce. "I -- I thought you might. You know. Understand."

And they weren't talking about smoking anymore. "Yes," Joyce said. "I do."

Karen let out a shuddering sigh. "Can you ... talk about it?"

"I don't know if I should. There's so much to tell, and ..." She hesitated. "Most of it's not mine to tell either."

"But there's more," Karen said, eyes searching Joyce's face. "It's not just a chemical spill and a Russian spy. There's ... there's a _lot_ more, isn't there?"

"There's a lot more," Joyce confirmed. "Hop knows."

Karen huffed a small laugh and pressed her fingertips to her temple for a minute. "Of course he does. The, um ... cabin in the woods ..."

"Is part of it. The kids are safe there, Karen," she added quickly. "You know, me and Will -- I wouldn't let him go there if it wasn't safe."

"What are they doing there?" Karen asked, worry creasing her forehead.

It was so strange, Joyce found, to have anyone look at her like this -- like she was an expert, the person with all the answers. "Just what they say they're doing, I think. Playing in the woods."

"Why _there?"_

"I ..." Joyce began, and hesitated.

"You can't talk about it," Karen finished for her. She grimaced and looked away.

Joyce caught her arm, feeling a door that had briefly opened begin to close. "I can't right now. But I will. I just need to ask Hop first. Okay? But you're not wrong, Karen. Everything you think is happening, has been happening."

Karen let out a long sigh and ran her hand through her hair. "You don't know," she said, very quietly, "how much it means to have someone say that."

"Yeah," Joyce said. "I do."

Karen looked up at her through disarrayed hair. "Yeah," she said, and smiled. "I guess you do."

They sat on the porch and finished the cigarettes down to the butts, then stomped them out thoroughly and Joyce wrapped them in a tissue and put them in her pocket.

"Thank you," Karen said, and smiled at her with something else Joyce was not used to seeing turned her way: earnest gratitude. "We'll have to, you know. Do this again. Soon."

 _I don't know if you'll thank me once I get Hop and Jane's okay to tell you what's really going on._ But ... no. Actually, she knew firsthand that it was better to know, no matter how strange and terrible the truth. Better that than the half-truths your mind conjured in the dark.

"Do you think the mold is set up yet?" she asked.

Karen hoisted herself up off the porch and gave Joyce a hand up. "It might be best if it has a little more time to gel. But you know, I'm curious too. We could turn it out and have a look."

Shortly, they had it out on a large plate on the counter, wobbling gently and looking like it was gearing up to reach out and poke Joyce with a tentacle. She had a worrying feeling that adding cocktail wieners was not likely to improve that problem much.

They both stared at it for a minute.

"It looks just like the picture," Joyce said optimistically. There was _no way_ she was going to be able to eat any of that. Just looking at it made her feel the squish of tentacles trying to wrap around her legs.

"... you know what's a hit at any block party," Karen said after another minute of contemplation. "Cookies. I can show you a fantastic recipe for ginger molasses cookies that the kids adore."

"That would be wonderful," Joyce said in vast relief. "Thank you."

"And while we're at it, there's one I found just recently for [bologna cake](https://tastykitchen.com/recipes/appetizers-and-snacks/bologna-cake/) I've been wanting to try ..."


End file.
